


Look into my eyes

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eyes, Insecurity, M/M, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has noticed that Sherlock avoids eye contact during intimate moments. John is confused and concerned that Sherlock is having doubts about their new relationship.</p><p>This fic was inspired by a brilliant suggestion on Tumblr (and I'm horrified that I can't remember who suggested it..put your hand up and I'll give you credit!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look into my eyes

_Why doesn_ _’t he look at me?_

The vague disquiet had been building had been brewing in John’s mind for several days. Ever since he and Sherlock had, as they say, taken their relationship to the next level almost a month ago John had been watching and ever vigilant for signs of trouble.

 At first, he’d diverted himself with the knowledge that all new relationships went through the ‘awkward’ stage at the start. New boundaries had to be established, preferences, comfort zones….kinks. More than most, the erratic-not-quite-sociopathic detective and his PTSD-widowed-blogger needed to navigate the unstable waters from friends to lovers, flatmates to partners.

Previous rules had been abolished. No entering the bathroom while it was occupied, no eating food the other had already started consuming, no tucking your ridiculously cold feet under my arse on the couch. All these and more were not only now unnecessary, in many cases, they were now unwanted.

In their place were new ‘rules’. No leaving the flat without a kiss goodbye, no overt touching of genitals outside the flat _where there may be witnesses_ (John was a little proud of the clarification on that rule), There is NO bad time to suggest sex _although implementation may have to wait_ , and lastly, absolutely no secrets when it comes to the subject of sex.

That last one had become important as soon as it became apparent that Sherlock’s unexpectedly deep feelings for John, coupled with his relative inexperience, was resulting in a tendency to be overly willing and compliant in absolutely anything John suggested.

That alone wouldn’t have been a problem except that a particularly aggressive night involving candle wax and hemp rope had left the detective’s delicate skin red and abraded and it was only after John had found Sherlock biting at his bottom lip while applying ointment to scratches that the taller and yet more vulnerable man had admitted that the previous night had been unpleasant but he hadn’t known how to refuse. 

Things were better after that. Sherlock and John both had safe-words, and John in particular took far more time assuring that suggestions were phrased as exactly that…SUGGESTIONS. Four weeks on, they knew that post-case frantic sex was a virtual certainty, lazy morning sex in the watery, crepuscular light was always welcome in spite of John’s dislike of morning-breath, Sherlock climbing into John’s bath spilled a hell of a lot of water but the payoff was worth it and there was nothing…NOTHING that got Sherlock off quicker than his blogger sinking to his knees in front of his flat-mate’s chair and taking him in his mouth.

Life at 221B was good… _and yet…._

John had noticed that recently _or perhaps always now he thinks back_ that Sherlock has a very clear aversion to eye contact during intimate moments. He’s taken the opportunity several times to remind Sherlock how captivating his eyes are. How the light reflects off them and John’s never sure from one day to the next whether he’ll be staring at icy blue or aqua green. How Sherlock’s intellect shines through them, bringing John up short and breathless and gaping in awe.

Sherlock knows all this and yet, time and again, John will look toward his face in the quiet, passionate moments and Sherlock’s eyes will either be resolutely closed, or he’ll swiftly turn his face away, consciously avoiding eye contact.

And John is worried.

He’s worried that they’ve slipped back into bad habits. Worried that Sherlock is hiding his true feelings, that Sherlock is having second thoughts and he’d rather revert to his ‘just transport’ days. In short, John’s worried that Sherlock is unhappy. And it’s breaking his heart.

So John does what John’s good at. He confronts the problem head on. Sure, it might have taken him two weeks to gather up the courage to confront it…but still…these things take planning.

So when Sherlock returns from St Barts, John’s waiting on the couch with two cups of tea and an expectant expression. He waits for Sherlock to store away in the fridge whatever new horror he’s brought home.

When Sherlock joins him, John’s arm habitually lifts from the back of the sofa and Sherlock sidles up beside him, long legs tucked up along the length. His arm then lowers again and slots the two of them together, Sherlock’s head tilted to rest on John’s shoulder. Whatever the outcome of this conversation, John needs Sherlock close, even if it’s the last time. He’s not sure if he can let this man go, even if that’s what Sherlock wants. But he needs to know.

“Sherlock” John begins quietly.

“You have a question. I can feel it in the tension of your shoulder. You’re worried about something you need to ask, worried about my reaction.” Sherlock doesn’t lift his head and John can feel the matching tension holding Sherlock unmoving beside him.

“Yeah….You remember the talk we had about being open about what we want?” John’s tone is gentle but hesitant.

“Mmmmm”

“I need to talk to you about that Sherlock, about what I want.”

Sherlock shudders in John’s arms. There’s a sense of contained adrenaline about him. It feels like he’s fighting to stay within the confines of John’s arms.

“Sherlock…."

"You're unhappy...."

"No..not at all. But.."John searches for the right words, "I'm worried that you are."

"Why would you think that?"

John sighs, This is the moment that will change things. Once the words are out, there's no going back. He tightens his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, tucking him in a little more tightly.

"Sherlock...When we're..." His voice stutters a little, "..together. When we're...intimate...you avoid my eyes. Is it that you don't want me to see you upset, or that you're trying to imagine being elsewhere. We've talked about pressure, and I hate the idea that I'm forcing you--" Sherlock interjects.

"John.." Sherlock struggles to sit more upright, pulling away from John's constricting arm.

"Let me finish Sherlock...."

"No John..stop.“ Sherlock pauses and looks distant for a breath while he searches for the right words.

John turns to look at Sherlock. Their faces only inches apart. There's a hint of tears in both sets of eyes. The high emotion of the moment affecting them both in different ways with similar results, John leans forward to touch his forehead against his lover's.

"John. You think I don't look at you because I'm unhappy. I don't look because..." Sherlock blinks slowly, a tear falls and trails down his cheek, "because I'm afraid."

John raises a hand in despair to wipe the tear away, horrified at Sherlock's implication. "Oh God Sherlock, please don't be afraid of me. I can't stand that....we'll just...I'll just...."

"No...please John, no. I'm not being clear, just...wait." Sherlock takes a deep breath and tries again, "I'm not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you. You take such care with me...of me. You're so solicitous of my feelings, of my needs and boundaries. I could never fear you."

"Then what?"

"I'm afraid of me, John. I'm afraid that if I look at you I'll see the truth in your eyes. That you've worked out what I already know, that I'm not good enough for you. I'll never be good enough for you, John and when you work that out, I can't bear that I'll see it in your eyes. It will break me John, and I'll never survive. I don't look because...I can't bear to see."

John's mouth had fallen open as he listened to Sherlock's confession. He knew Sherlock's self-esteem was shaky, far more shaky than most people would suspect. But that Sherlock doubted John's love for him...he had no idea. This was a problem he could solve.

"Oh Sherlock, how could you doubt me? You're the best part of me. You're the source of my spirit, my enthusiasm and my compassion. Without you, I'd wither away. You're my life."

Another tear followed the first as Sherlock absorbed the words silently, processing and filing.

John drew the taller man to him, into a solid and encompassing embrace, "You couldn't get rid of me now, even if you tried."

"Promise?" The word came, muffled against John's shoulder.

"Promise."


End file.
